


Book I - Calcination

by FeatheredFeline



Series: Harry Potter and the Alchemist's Promise [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe, Gen, Magical Theory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 05:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17502398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredFeline/pseuds/FeatheredFeline
Summary: Alchemy: that most noble of arts, the study of magic itself. After a decade of peace, whispers of a growing darkness begin. For the Flamels, their work has painted targets on them once again. An ambitious AU story expanding upon the magic of J.K. Rowling's wizarding world. No pairings planned, certainly not for eleven year olds! Will hopefully continue into the following years.Crossposted from FFN. New user to Ao3, advice on tags etc. appreciated.





	1. Going To Ground

1st November, 1981: 11.52pm

The inhabitants of Privet Drive, Little Whinging, were sleeping. For them, it was another night of comfortable mediocrity. The raucous sounds of celebration were too distant to penetrate their double glazing. And a good thing too, for the decent folks of Little Whinging felt it only proper to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night with everyone else. The warm flickering glow of sodium streetlamps bathed the pavement orange, bleaching out the stars.

Their quiet night was interrupted when a white bearded man twisted into existence at the end of the street. He whipped around, the tip of the wooden rod he held glowing as dangerously as his icy blue eyes. Satisfied that he was alone, he marginally relaxed; the golden glow fading as he lowered his wand. He reached deep inside his long purple robes with his free hand and withdrew a small silver device. It was not unlike an ornate cigarette lighter, and gave a satisfying click as his thumb drew back the mechanism. An orb of light left the nearest streetlamp with a soft whoosh. Clicking several more times, the lights of Privet Drive left their housings to be consumed by the device. The man was eventually left with only a little unveiled starlight and the barest sliver of the moon to light his way. A large tabby slinked through a gap in the hedge and padded to the gate of Number Four. Had the light been a little brighter, the man knew he’d recognise the odd markings about his friend’s eyes. He quickly strode over to join her.

“Minerva, thank you for guarding the house while I saw to the arrangements. Hagrid should be arriving shortly with young Harry.”

While he spoke, the tabby had grown into the stern figure of a woman, complete with square-framed glasses and a long emerald cloak.

“Albus, we can’t do this. I’ve been watching the house all day and these are the worst muggles imaginable! You couldn’t find two people who are less like us. And they’ve got this _son_ , he-”

The tired looking man held up a hand to stop her.

“Voldemort’s followers are still on the prowl. This is the best protection we can offer him. I think, Minerva, that you underestimate the power of family.”

“What of Black? Is he not family enough?” she asked, not unkindly.

He shuffled, looking uncomfortable.

“Minerva.” The twinkle had gone from his eyes. “I have reason to believe he betrayed them to Voldemort.”

She was speechless. Even under starlight, it was clear her face had gone deathly pale. Albus tried to push past the silence.

“And anyway, growing up in the muggle world could reap its own benefits. The fame that would follow him in our world would turn any boy’s head. Can’t you see how much better off he’ll be, growing up away from all that until he’s ready to take it?” He peered over his half-moon spectacles at his deputy.

Before she could gather herself to respond, he turned sharply away. He could hear a growing rumble over the distant sounds of celebration. A figure appeared in the distance, invisible to all but Dumbledore.

“Albus, what are you looking at?” she asked curiously.

“Hagrid is here.”

Minerva McGonagall jumped backwards with a hiss as a motorbike with the proportions of a land rover fell out of the sky, skidding to a halt in front of the pair. Dumbledore merely looked amused.

“Merlin’s beard, Albus, what were you _thinking?_ ”

“I would trust Hagrid with my life.” His tone brooked no argument. His eyes twinkled as he continued: “Besides, I modified the bike myself just yesterday”.

She shot him a withering glare before turning back to the mountain of a man in front of her. Hagrid dismounted and gently plucked the sleeping baby out of the sidecar.

“Evenin’, Perfessers.”

McGonagall winced. He had spoken at a volume deemed quiet only to him. Then her expression quickly slipped to one of confusion, as she took in the bike a second time.

“Albus, isn’t that Black’s contraption?”

“Ah, yes. It was supposedly loaned to the Potters for use as emergency transport. I removed Black’s tracking charm and modified it for Hagrid before we left, though. No need to leave it for him to use - after all, it is most difficult to trace.”

She shook her head in sad disbelief. Dumbledore turned back to Hagrid.

“No problems, were there?”

“No, sir – took a bit o’ work to avoid all them fireworks but even so, the young ‘un fell asleep as we were flyin’ over Bristol.”

Dumbledore looked mildly exasperated with that revelation.

“The Ministry couldn’t even keep this under wraps for twenty-four hours. I must have passed half a dozen feasts and parties on the way here. They’re calling him the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’, now.” He sighed. “I suppose we’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.”

Professor McGonagall, too, looked frustrated. “The Obliviators are going to have their work cut out. A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has_ gone, Albus?”

A flicker passed over his face before he replied “It would certainly seem so.” After a beat, he continued: “Would either of you care for a sherbert lemon?”

Professor McGonagall responded with a curt “No, thank you”, annoyed at his evasion. Hagrid, however, happily held out a hand the size of a dustbin lid. Dumbledore dutifully poured an impossibly large number of the sweets from out of a small drawstring bag. Hagrid happily crunched on them as Professor McGonagall stared pointedly at Dumbledore. Dumbledore, however, was avoiding her gaze by rummaging through his robes. He withdrew a letter and tucked it into Harry’s basket.

His wand slipped back out of his sleeve into his hand. A few twitches and mutters later, a warm light flashed around the child, followed by a rush of glowing mist swirling about the house. Professor McGonagall recognised the warming and protective charms, but her eyes grew wide at the last piece of magic. She had never seen the like.

As Dumbledore knelt to lift the basket, Hagrid stepped forward.

“Can… can I say goodbye to Harry before we leave, Perfesser?”

“Of course, Hagrid.”

As the huge man sobbed over the sleeping boy, Professor McGonagall gestured in their direction.

“Is a letter really enough? Shouldn’t we at least knock?”

“Normally I would, Minerva, but truth be told I don’t fully understand Lily’s protection myself. I know my modifications won’t truly be complete until Harry's family freely take him in, and I’m unsure if our presence will affect her magic.” He gently took the basket from Hagrid and placed it upon the doorstep of Number Four.

The three of them stood respectfully, a brief moment of silence marking the moment. The war was over.

Dumbledore was the first to step back. He reached into a pocket and withdrew an odd sock. A quick mutter of “ _portus_ ” and a flash of gold soon followed. He handed the sock to the other two.

“This will take you back to Hogwarts. I’ll be along shortly, after a couple of errands. Feel free to join the celebrations, if you like.” He paused. “You do understand that _nobody_ must know of this location?” They both nodded. Dumbledore bowed his head. “Then you understand my actions tonight.”

He reached forward as if to tap the sock with his wand, but at the last second flicked it upwards and intoned:

“Obliviate.”

The look of shock on the two faces was quickly replaced by a dreamy expression, before the portkey whisked them back to the school gates.

He looked around for signs of their presence, shrinking the bike and placing it in a pocket. Thumbing a second lever on the deluminator with a loud clunk, he returned the stolen light to wash over Privet Drive. Then Dumbledore turned on one heel and vanished silently into the darkness.

Later that night, Albus Dumbledore sat alone in his office. Instead of joining the celebrations up and down the country, he was sat at his desk composing the second of two letters. This one was addressed to himself. The first had been placed in a protective leather cylinder along with a vial of silvery liquid. Fawkes had vanished a short while ago to hide it far from prying eyes. Phoenixes were known for their roaming of inhospitable lands, and a place deemed hidden to one was likely inaccessible.

Satisfied, he cast some drying sand over the ink and poured himself a vintage firewhisky. This particular one was distilled during the passing of Halley’s Comet in 1910, and was literally saturated in magic. It had been gifted to him in 1945, and felt rather apt for the end of a war. He leant back in his seat, swirling the amber liquid and staring into space. Sighing, he stopped nursing his drink and reached for his wand. Pointing it at himself, he whispered: “Alas, if you wish to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.”

He took a deep breath and concentrated on the whereabouts of one Harry James Potter.

“Obliviate.”

 

* * *

**Author's Notes (New, crossposted from FFN):**

There's no point in excuses, so I'll just say that I have my reasons for not writing and leave it at that. Before I stopped writing, I had a lot of notes and about 50,000 words of draft written out. I've been doing better of late, and pulled up this old project to work on. I'm not going to put down an update schedule: I learnt my lesson before. I do enjoy writing, even if I find it hard at times, so I will see how this goes. I'll leave my original Author Notes below as they are mostly still relevant. The first two chapters have a couple of minor changes, but are more or less the same as before. Everything from Chapter 3 onwards will be previously unposted material.

As a final note: rather irrationally, I find this project incredibly daunting. There are a lot of excellent fanfictions preceding me, and I want to feel like I'm adding something worthwhile to the community. I hope to do my best, and to get further with the project than I did previously.

 

* * *

**Author's Notes (Original, crossposted from FFN):**

Welcome, readers, to my first fanfiction. This is rather an ambitious project; I hope to eventually write an AU of the original series. There is no single point of divergence. Rather, there are several small changes in addition to an expansion of the original setting. I hope to include more elements of culture, history and politics than in canon. I also aim to explore the sense of wonder and mystery surrounding magic. Although there will be many parallels at first, I fully expect this to snowball into a vastly different story. I will be using canon events as a vague rule of thumb and source of inspiration rather than a set of 'stations' for my story to stop at.

For those wanting to know more about what to expect, I give the following hints:

\- Alchemy and exploration of magical theory will be important throughout. Expect different subjects to affect each other.

\- Characters may be written differently than in canon, but will be clearly based on their original characters.

\- This is not a bashing fic. Also, no pairings are planned as of yet. They are waaay too young to be thinking about that kind of stuff!

\- Magical theory may drift away from canon. I have some original ideas, and want to make magic a potentially more powerful tool than in canon.

\- The wizarding world will feel larger but also a little empty after the high death toll of the last war.

Constructive criticism and suggestions are welcome. Details I am currently deciding on include Hogwarts uniforms (book or film version? Or some happy medium?), how to approach certain characters (Draco, Snape and Quirrell in particular) and how to write a shopping scene without running into cliché too much! I aim to update roughly on a fortnightly basis, but this may vary as I am settling back into writing after a long time away.

I do not understand the importance of a disclaimer on a site dedicated to derivative works, but feel free to enlighten me should you know whether or not they are necessary. I of course am not JK Rowling and do not profess to own her works. On that note, I realise I have been inspired by other works on this site. However, I have been a reader here for at least two years and possibly do not remember where certain ideas have come from. I will attempt to acknowledge writers in the Author's Notes whenever I can, but if I miss a trick feel free to point out the stories that got there first.

One work I discovered recently was uncomfortably close to some of my own ideas. I refer to the wonderful What You Leave Behind by Newcomb. I have already spoken with them and they were extremely helpful on advising me with my own writing. Go and check out their work! I suspect you will adore it as much as I did.


	2. Illegitimi Non Carborundum

23rd June, 1991: 7.00am

Harry Smith was perfectly normal, thank you very much. Everything about him was painfully boring. He didn’t talk much at school, much preferring the company of books or just sitting quietly by the school garden. His grades were barely passable, but not low enough to catch the attention of the staff. He was quite small and seemed to have a knack for blending into the background. He didn’t really have any friends to speak of.

It certainly didn’t help that his cousin hated him.

Dudley thought himself a pretty tough guy at school, and meek little Harry was the perfect punching bag for him and his gang. Whatever they did to him, Harry never seemed to tell anyone or give any indication of trouble. He was the perfect victim. So little was known about Harry Smith that no-one realised that he and Dudley Dursley lived under the same roof. Even if you were to visit, there was no sign that another boy lived there.

The photos around the house depicted a stick thin woman with a horselike face, a rotund man with a rosy complexion and a thick moustache, and a young blond boy who seemed to grow rounder as he aged. Harry never appeared. The first of the two spare bedrooms was Dudley's second bedroom, filled with a decade's worth of junk; the second was a pristine guest room. The few neighbours who had seen him there were told that Harry was a distant relative who visited often, as constant chores were necessary to “keep the brat in line”.

No-one who visited ever thought to question the bolt on the cupboard under the stairs. Harry’s Cupboard.

He had lived there ever since he could remember. At night he slept on the old, too-small mattress that was crammed into the space, with ragged old blankets wrapped about him. In the day his sole purpose was to serve the Dursley family. Ever since he was old enough he had cooked the meals, washed the dishes, laundered the clothes, tended the garden and cleaned the house. When he slipped in his duties, he was punished. Sometimes he would be locked away in his cupboard. Other times his Uncle would beat him. It didn’t seem to matter how badly he was hurt, as by the next day the worst of the injuries would look like minor bumps and scrapes. He didn’t know if this was a blessing or a curse, as Vernon seemed to try a little harder each time to “make the lesson sink in”.

With so little joy in his life, Harry took pride in his work. The garden was perfect, his cooking delectable and the house spotless. Deep down he hoped that maybe, just once, he would be acknowledged if he did well enough. If anything, the more perfect he was the more suspicious his Aunt became of “any funny business”, even if his Uncle cared only for the results.

The summer break offered no respite - in fact, holidays were the worst time of the year for Harry Smith. There was no way to escape from his relatives. The books he lost himself in during school breaktimes could not be read in the darkness of his cupboard. He was rarely allowed out of Number Four, which made it difficult to avoid the vindictive punches and kicks of his cousin. Where during term he could engage in classes and learn something interesting, at home there was only the never-ending list of chores.

This morning started like most mornings. Harry jerked awake in the dark at the sound of his Aunt stirring upstairs. With only the faintest of light creeping around the edge of the cupboard door, he stooped in the space and threw on some clothes. Aunt Petunia’s precise footsteps loosened a little of the dust from the underside of the stairs. Then she rapped sharply at the door and slid back the bolt.

“Freak! Up, up! Make breakfast. Everything will be perfect for Dudder’s birthday, or else.”

He nodded mutely and pattered into the kitchen. He managed to tamp down his hunger as the smell of bacon wafted through the air - if he was lucky his Aunt might allow him some plain toast today. It wasn’t long before Dudley thumped down the stairs like a small rhinoceros.

“Happy birthday Duddykins!” squealed Aunt Petunia. “Come see your presents!”

A slower, heavier set of thumps signalled Uncle Vernon’s arrival. He wordlessly snatched the steaming plates from Harry’s hands before joining his wife and son in the next room.

“Thirty-six? But that’s two less than last year!” whined Dudley.

“But Darling, you missed Aunt Marge’s present.” Aunt Petunia cooed. “It’s here, under this large one from Mummy and Daddy.”

“All right, thirty-seven then.”

Harry thought he detected a tantrum on the way, and rushed into the room to rescue the plates in case Dudley flipped the table over. His Aunt and Uncle would be furious if one of the Portmeiron plates were damaged. Sure enough, Dudley’s face was turning red from the centre of his pile of presents. Harry’s quick glance took in what he guessed to be a computer, another television and a racing bike. However, he had no clue about the huge cuboid in the centre.

“And we’ll buy you another _two_ while we’re out today. How’s that, popkin? _Two_ more presents. Is that all right?” There was a hint of desperation in his Aunt’s voice now.

“So that’ll be… thirty-nine. Alright then.”

Harry had let out a gentle sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to clear up behind his cousin any more than usual today.

Dudley reached for the biggest one and started to tear off the paper. Inside was a large glass tank. A terrarium, Harry remembered they were called. Inside was a bright green, striped snake.

“Wow, cool!” Dudley yelled, his face plastered against the glass. After a couple of seconds, he promptly ignored the terrified reptile to tear into more of his presents. Eventually he finished going through the stacks of video games and electronic devices, leaving Harry to clear the empty dishes and torn paper.

“Boy!” yelled Uncle Vernon. “We are going out for Dudley’s birthday. You will be staying here. I do not trust you. You will stay in the cupboard and it will be locked until we return. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.”

Soon he was locked back in the dark, listening to the scraping of boots and gruff noises from his Uncle. The revving of their Mercedes started up shortly after, which quickly disappeared into the distance. After about half an hour, when he was certain they wouldn’t have come back to collect a forgotten item, Harry crawled out of his nest. He peeled up a loose floorboard, and retrieved a clothes hanger he had stolen once. It had long since lost its original shape, the thin wire bent into a specific hook. Harry gently fed it through the gap in the door, feeling for the bolt on the outside. It was fiddly work, but he had had a lot of practice; eventually, the bolt was slid open with a small snick. As long as he was careful about the time, the Dursleys need never know he had left his cupboard.

After fetching some water and something to eat, he went to check out the snake in the living room. It was beautiful. Realising that the Dursleys had neglected to leave the snake any water or food, Harry attended to it. There were no mice handy, but there was leftover chicken from a roast the night before.

 _“There, that should do for now.”_ He said with satisfaction.

 _“Tttthank you Sssspeaker”_ came back a gentle hiss.

Harry, naturally, jumped out of his skin.

_“You can talk?”_

_“Young Ssspeaker, you are the one who can talk.”_

Harry, slightly in shock, had a rather surreal chat with the snake for over an hour. Apparently she (for she was a girl snake) was scared of the other humans, and would like nothing more than to escape. Even if the world outside was an unfriendly place, it would beat being the plaything of a negligent human.

Harry didn’t want someone else to suffer at Dudley’s hands, so he left the lid slightly ajar with a wink, before pointing at an open window.

_“I’ll even give you a boost if you want?”_

After the newly christened Sesame had escaped, Harry stole some food, filled an old plastic bottle with water and took a length of dental floss from the bathroom cupboard. Making a loose loop around the bolt, he closed the door and tugged gently until the bolt was back in place. He reeled the length inside, horded his stolen goods under the floorboard, and slowly stewed in his guilt. How would the Dursleys take out their anger on him? He didn’t regret helping the poor snake, but he knew he would suffer for it whether there was any evidence or not. He was still not entirely convinced about their little chat, though. Anything strange or “freakish” was looked down upon as “dangerous nonsense” by the Dursleys, to the point where the word “magic” was pretty much considered taboo. He must have imagined the conversation to help pass the time. Harry had used to talk to some of the broken toys he’d smuggled out of the rubbish when he was younger. This couldn’t be all that different. Sesame was a gorgeous specimen and he hoped she’d be able to survive in the wild. Eventually, he fell asleep.

He woke in a panic when a large hand grabbed him around the throat. Harry was yanked out of his nest, his head solidly striking the doorframe on the way out. An errant thought wondered if it was the impact or a lack of oxygen which was causing him to see stars.

“BOY! What did you do with Dudley’s snake?”

Harry was disorientated enough to look correctly confused at this question.

“Uncle I swear, I’ve been in my cupboard the entire time!”

With a disbelieving sneer, he was flung bodily into the cupboard, his head thumping a second time (this time against the far wall) before the door was slammed and bolted.

“You’ll stay in there until I say otherwise, you hear?”

In the dark, Harry was glad that the snake wasn’t suffering the same as him. Although dizzy and in pain, he counted his blessings. At least he wouldn’t starve – he was glad for pinching food while he had the chance.

* * *

 

**Author's Notes (crossposted from FFN):**

I think the only minor change this time was the colour of the snake, from orange to green. From now on it'll be new material.


	3. Plucked From Obscurity

1st July, 1991: 8.59am

The summer days slipped by in typical British fashion. Some days sunshine soaked the ground until it cracked, and other days thunder shook the sky and the end of Privet Drive turned into a small river. Of course, Aunt Petunia sent a sharply worded letter to the local Council about the blocked drain, as well as the appalling state of Britain in general. Not that any of this mattered much to Harry, who spent all of his time either locked in his cupboard or doing his various chores.

Today, however, was different. Sat in his cupboard, he quietly hummed to himself as he daydreamed about his birthday next month, and how he would celebrate it if he could. He smiled. After all, you only turned eleven once.

His reverie was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Prim clacks rang through the hallway as his Aunt strode past to answer the door.

"Can't you read? The sign says no salesmen." she screeched.

"WHAT?" She responded to the quiet man. "I don't know what you mean, now get out of my house!"

The door shut with a slam, followed by patient knocking.

"Vernon! Vernon! It's  _them_." She sounded on the edge of panic.

Thoroughly confused, Harry curled tighter into his nest as his Uncle came thundering out, loading a sports shotgun as he went and muttering about "damn freaks".

The door opened again, followed by a measured voice, a furious roar in response and an echoing retort that made Harry cover his ears and whimper. There was a pained yell and a thump as someone hit the floor, hard. Then, everything went quiet. Apart from the voice of the visitor.

"Now if we could all just calm down." The man didn't shout, but his voice had a hard edge to it.

"You are Vernon and Petunia Dursley, correct? Where, may I ask, is your nephew?" Silence fell.

Eventually, Harry heard the visitor mutter and a warm glow seemed to surround him. He squeaked in shock and fear before clapping a hand to his mouth.

Gently, the bolt snicked back and the door was swung wide. An old man with a long white beard and plum paisley suit stood there, a look of horror etched behind half-moon spectacles as he took in the wretched signs of habitation in the cramped space, and the terrified boy tucked into one corner. He stood slowly, his patience and any last signs of good cheer sliding from his face. His blue eyes now resembled chips of ice, glowing softly with a subtle power. Waves of oppressive force rolled off of him, the air seemingly thickening and crackling just beyond hearing. The pictures on the wall shook and the front door slammed as if caught in a gust of wind.

"Petunia, I am disgusted. There will be a reckoning, of that I can assure you."

He took a deep breath and pinched his nose lightly to centre himself. The air around him calmed and the chips of ice melted into deep pools of sorrow.

The visitor looked back down at the terrified young boy and reached out a hand.

"Harry, I am so, so sorry." A tear could be seen tracing a line on his face. "Let's get you away from these awful people." Harry, still in shock, meekly complied and followed the man to the door, which opened seemingly by itself.

"You three will not be going anywhere until I return." He waved a stick at the house and all of the doors and windows slammed shut with a squelching noise. As an afterthought, he absently waved at the telephone wire, which sliced straight through as though by a knife. The man knelt in front of Harry.

"I had planned for a nice chat this afternoon, but I think we may have some more important issues to deal with, eh?" He tried and failed to smile. He stood and dusted off his purple suit, which crackled a little under the attention.

"My apologies, my name is Albus Dumbledore and I've waited for this day for ten years. I had hoped I would find you happy and well." He looked at his feet. "If I may, I feel it prudent to get your health checked as soon as possible. But first, would you like something to eat?" Harry hesitated, untrusting, before his stomach took over and he gave the smallest nod in reply. Dumbledore held out his arm to the boy and gestured for him to hold on.

"Just to warn you, Harry, this may feel a little strange."

With a crack, the two of them left Privet Drive behind them.

Harry didn't know what to think. One moment they had been stood outside Number Four, and the next he was twisted into an impossibly small tube and spat back out again in the middle of London. He felt a little faint and would have fallen if not for Dumbledore's sturdy grip. He was led to an impractically narrow café squeezed between a bank and a shabby set of studio spaces. A homemade sign proclaimed it "Barney's Bistro". At his confused look, Dumbledore merely smiled.

"Don't judge a book by its cover, Harry. I have it on good authority that this little café does one of the best cooked breakfasts in the city."

Any questions which Harry may have had were soon quelled by the heady scents of fried bacon and sausages. Mr Dumbledore waved cheerily to the man clanking behind the counter before heading up a set of stairs, which Harry hadn't noticed on the way in. The tousle-haired chef brought up a pair of very full, steaming plates shortly afterwards, along with a pot of tea and a small jug of orange juice. Harry was amazed from the first bite. He put his all into making his cooking at the Dursley's as perfect as he could make it, but he felt out of his league here.

"Tastes magical, doesn't it Harry?" said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles. "Barnabus here never had a talent for wands. His family disowned him, thinking him a squib - one from a wizarding background with barely any magical affinity. His magic is rather unconventional, and lends itself well to his love of cooking."

Harry listened, holding his questions back as he quietly worked his way through his breakfast. He ate quickly, a habit picked up from Dudley stealing or ruining his food back at home. Dumbledore's gaze drifted off into the distance and he stirred his tea. He sighed, before muttering something under his breath and gesturing purposefully around them with one hand.

"I have a lot of things to tell you, and a lot of them may be difficult to believe. The first, and most important thing is that you are a wizard, Harry."

Harry stopped eating for a second and stared down into the strange man's purple paisley swirls. Then he said in a monotone "But Mr Dumbledore, I'm just a normal boy."

He flinched when Dumbledore reached for his hand. Pausing, Dumbledore sat back and laced his fingers together before saying gently: "Magic is  _real_. Your parents were an incredibly talented witch and wizard. One day, you shall be as well. Normally I would ask if you had done anything strange or unusual, but that is unlikely to have happened with you. To help keep you hidden, I limited your magic, to stop you from revealing yourself to those who might wish you harm." His last words sounded bitter in his mouth.

Harry was still at a bit of a loss, but something about the broken old man made him trust him a little.

"There… there might be something. On Dudley's birthday, I spoke to his pet snake. It might have just been a dream, though." He saw Dumbledore's hands tighten slightly and his eyes widen a little.

"Yes, I can see how that might have happened." he responded thoughtfully. "It might be best to keep that particular detail between us for now, if that's alright. When you've finished, I'd like to take you to a magical hospital for a check-up. I'll need to put you under a disguise, called a glamour, to prevent anyone from recognising you while we're there." Harry just nodded mutely, even if inwardly he was wondering why a nobody like him would need a disguise.

The portion sizes were much too large for Harry, but there was no way he was going to waste perfectly good food. His surreptitious attempts to rescue the leftovers in a napkin couldn't get past those observant blue eyes, however. With a couple of flicks of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a metal lunch box and scooped the leftovers inside. His amazement forestalled any embarrassment; he thought he recognised the style of box from a photo he'd seen once of a sepia-tone construction worker eating lunch atop a skyscraper.

"That should stay warm until you get peckish. It's only a temporary conjuration so try to finish it off in the next day or two" said Dumbledore. Then, with a look of deep concentration, he tapped Harry firmly on the head with his wand before waving it in a complex gesture in front of his chest. "And that's the glamour." Dumbledore promptly stood. "Come along, Harry", he said over his shoulder as he led the way back outside; only stopping to drop a few strange-looking coins clinked on the counter. "Excellent as always, Barnabus. I'll be back for more soon enough!" Barney, or Barnabus, gave a pleased grin in return. His eyes flickered to Harry, but Barnabus only winked and gestured a zipping motion across his lips as the two of them left.

A short walk later, a redheaded and scarless boy who was fascinated with his reflection stood outside a run-down old warehouse called Purge & Dowse, Ltd. If he hadn't seen the earlier examples of magic in action, Harry would have thought this an elaborate practical joke. As it was, he was prepared to think of it more a nice dream while it lasted, and was suspending his disbelief accordingly.

And then the mannequin beckoned to them, and Mr Dumbledore strode straight  _through_  the glass! Harry reached out a finger and watched with wide eyes as the glass rippled like water. Following the strange man, he stepped into a whirl of chaos. The people surrounding them had all sorts of bizarre maladies, but he tried hard not to stare as Mr Dumbledore had a quiet word with someone called a Welcomewitch. After a brief look of shock, she hurried them past a grumpy-looking man who was somehow bright blue, down a corridor and through to a private consultation room.

A harried-looking young man came in shortly afterwards, an eyebrow raised in surprise at his visitor.

"Professor Dumbledore? What can I do for you?"

"Bilious! Or should I say, Healer Sayre? It's good to see you. I have a rather confidential case for you."

"Professor, patient confidentiality is the standard, here. Now, who is this young man?"

Dumbledore lifted the glamour with a wave of his hand.

"Merlin's beard, is that who I think it is?" he said with a hint of awe. Dumbledore smiled and gave him a friendly but pointed look. "Mr Potter, my apologies. Your confidentiality is of the utmost importance, of course."

Harry looked at Dumbledore, confused. "Sir? But my name's Harry Smith."

"Harry, I'm afraid that your surname was changed at my suggestion. I expected those people to at least tell you of your heritage in private, though. I'll explain more after your health check." Harry just nodded and looked back to the curious Healer Sayre.

"Mr Potter, I will be performing a number of non-invasive diagnostic scans upon yourself, taking a blood sample and conducting a few physical checks."

He got to work, but his professional demeanour faltered as soon as he asked Harry to remove his rag of a shirt.

"Dumbledore, what is the meaning of this? This poor lad has been through hell!"

Dumbledore looked slightly ill as he saw clear signs of bruising and scarring all over the boy's body. The diagnostics spell being cast by Healer Sayre shot out twisted lengths of coloured mists. Harry instinctively curled in on himself. He couldn't understand the spell, but he had a good guess at what the ominous shades of jagged smoke meant. A nearby quill stood on its point with a flick of the Healer's wand, noting down a long list of old injuries. Badly set broken bones, malnutrition, scar tissue, and traces of recent bruising were all added to the parchment.

"I am afraid that although I foresaw the need to protect him from Voldemort's followers" the Healer flinched but held his stare "it did not occur to me to protect the lad from his own relatives."

"Merlin's beard – his  _family_  did this to him?" the Healer went pale and his eyes widened. Cold anger had settled in Dumbledore's features.

Taking a deep breath, the Healer finished the scans, then pulled open a nearby drawer and removed a strange piece of headgear. He put it on himself before clicking a honey-coloured lens into place over one of his eyes. To Harry, the Healer's eye seemed magnified to two or three times its natural size.

"Now, Mr Potter, if you could remove your glasses I just need to check your eyes." After some humming punctuated by a short frown, Healer Sayre noted down some numbers on a slip of parchment which he put to the side.

"Of course they didn't bother getting you the correct spectacles… Mr Potter, you will find it much easier to see distant objects with this new lens prescription. Take it to a lensmaker when you can. It should also help to prevent headaches from reading. When you're older, you can look into more long-term solutions, if you wish." As he was saying this, he removed and stowed his headgear before opening another drawer. Harry's eyes went wide and he shifted away as the Healer withdrew a crystal vial and a bright silver scalpel.

"Mr Potter, calm down. I am going to apply a numbing charm to your hand before taking the sample. You will not feel any pain, but I do need to test your blood to continue with my assessment."

Harry reluctantly complied in silence, his eyes widening in surprise as the numbing charm took effect, and again as the cut glowed a soft white and healed over instantly.

"Of course," he said, looking at Dumbledore "this sample will be destroyed immediately after testing." He placed the vial to one side.

Healer Sayre looked confused as he pointed his wand at Harry's chest.

"Professor, is there some kind of binding on this boy's magic? I've never seen the like in my career"

"Ah, that is one of mine, I admit. To help him to stay hidden, I sought to control the ways in which accidental magic would be released. I hoped to prevent him from being discovered by those who might seek to harm him."

"This is possibly illegal and definitely morally questionable" the Healer looked accusingly at Dumbledore, before leaning in close to the patterns in the air and muttering. "However, I can't see any damage to the boy's magic." There was a hint of reluctant admiration in the Healer's expression as he turned back. "You will remove this as soon as possible? The dangers of magical suppression are very serious."

"It will be unravelled within the week." Dumbledore confirmed, a flash of regret flickering across his features for a moment. Healer Sayre had already turned back to Harry, though, and missed this.

The series of tests and checks continued into the afternoon, with only the occasional break for lunch, or to wait for the results of some test or other.

"Mr Potter, I would also like to see you in a fortnight to see how you are improving, as well as bring in a specialist to look at your scar. I have the results of your blood test on this scrip, but there doesn't seem to be anything extra to worry about. There were some traces of unknown magic in your system" he looked curiously at Dumbledore, who was twiddling his thumbs, "but again, it doesn't appear to be harmful." Healer Sayre handed him several slips of a thick papery material covered in scruffy handwriting. Dumbledore reinstated the glamour before they walked back towards reception.

They quickly stopped at the hospital's apothecary to pick up Harry's potions prescription (helpfully labelled as being for a Mr Harry Smith) before leaving. While the potions were being gathered, Dumbledore took another look at the lens prescription. With a look of concentration, he tapped on Harry's glasses with his wand. Harry felt them go warm and wriggle slightly before settling down, and quickly found a reflection in some nearby glassware to admire the Professor's handiwork. Not only was his sight clearer, but the frames were fully repaired and fit his face snugly.

"I daresay you'll want to see a professional when you get the opportunity, but it is rather handy being a Transfiguration Master at times" his eyes twinkled merrily at the look of wonder on Harry's face. A small box of potions appeared at the apothecary's hatch, and Dumbledore slid over several silver coins before leading Harry back to the front entrance.

There was a room marked as an "apparition point" down a short corridor from the main reception. Once there, Dumbledore took Harry by the arm and suddenly they were before a small cottage on a hill. In the distance, a sleepy village could be seen. Dumbledore glanced over the house with an air of sadness before leading Harry to the front door.

The house was clearly old. It appeared to be built from ancient dark timber with originally white plaster between. Tatty thatch covered the roof, and the garden was long overgrown. Beyond the creaking front door, any furniture was beneath dust sheets and the place had clearly lain empty for a number of years.

"Tilly?" Dumbledore called into the air. A sudden loud crack made Harry jump backwards. Dumbledore gave him a quick look of apology before addressing the small green creature in front of him.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"Tilly, I'd like you to work here for a short while looking after myself and a prospective student. There will be plenty of work to be done here and I will make sure you get your old schedule back upon your return." Tilly's face had brightened at the mention of work.

"This young man, Tilly, is Harry Potter. If you could help to look after him and the house until the start of term I would be most grateful." Her eyes were wide in amazement.

"Thanking you, Headmaster!" she trilled in excitement. "I's will start straightway!" she snapped her fingers several times. Dust vanished, sheets folded themselves, shutters opened. Very quickly the house began to look habitable again. Dumbledore turned to Harry as she set to work.

"Harry, Tilly is a house elf. Her greatest joy is to work and care for people, and she will help you around the house until the start of term. I know you have a lot of questions, and I shall endeavour to answer as many as I can in the next few weeks. If you think of any while I am away working, write them down and we will go through them on my return. With your permission, I may bring the occasional visitor to see you." Harry nodded.

"Now, this is by no means a prison. You may leave the house if you like, but I would like you to stay nearby and only go outside under a glamour from Tilly. Try to avoid crowded areas, as she will find it much harder to keep you disguised when around many people." He looked longingly out of the window. "You may find the woods interesting to roam in the day. Tilly or myself will accompany you to make sure you come to no harm."

Harry looked up at the kind, tired old man who had done so much for him. He tugged at the sleeve of his suit and whispered: "thank you."

The smile that lit up Dumbledore's face was wonderful.

"I'm sorry that I have to leave you so soon, Harry, but I will be back before long. Tilly knows how to reach me should you wish to send a message." His face darkened as he stood up straight. "But first, I have a reckoning to deliver." Harry watched him out of the window as he walked up the path, before disappearing with a twist.

The day's events had left Harry reeling; he decided he needed to rest and give himself time to process what had happened. At first, though, he knew not what to do. He had never had a bed before and spent several restless hours tossing and turning in the seemingly huge space. He eventually went downstairs and made a nest in the alcove beneath the steps. Tilly was confused but did not force him out of his den. Instead, she endeavoured to make the space as comfortable as possible for the small boy. The feeling of peace that crept over him was unfamiliar, but welcome, and soon Harry was asleep with a small smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Notes (crossposted from FFN):**

I'm a bit unsure about chapter lengths. In my word processor 3000-5000 words looks plenty, but once it's uploaded it looks a little short. What are your opinions on chapter length? Also, pacing is a thing I'm worried about. I decided that if I didn't start posting, that I never would, so I'm just muddling along and hoping for the best.

 


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